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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459253">i play my part (and you play your game)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/girodelles_waifu/pseuds/girodelles_waifu'>girodelles_waifu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>shot through the heart [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Romeo &amp; Juliet - Takarazuka Revue, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Takarazuka Revue Musicals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, maybe verona is a bad place to live actually, misc OC capulets, tyvolio 2: 2 knives 2 furious</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:41:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/girodelles_waifu/pseuds/girodelles_waifu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tybalt and Benvolio end up in a high stakes roleplay when a group of Capulets discover them together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benvolio Montague/Tybalt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>shot through the heart [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i play my part (and you play your game)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on the performers from the 2010 Takarazuka musical (seen here: https://imgur.com/a/qteFByP)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tybalt looks ruefully at a gash in the sleeve of his red leather jacket as he turns to leave the square. Mercutio’s aim was better than usual today...or perhaps Benvolio was too distracted to try to pull him back.</p><p>“Are you hurt?” one of the other Capulets asks as Tybalt trails behind them.</p><p>“No, I’m fine,” he announces in the general direction of the square, making sure his voice carries. “I think I’ll go riding outside the city later. This place reeks of Montague.”</p><p>The others all laugh, jostling each other as they exchange descriptions of their exploits and congratulations for showing the Montagues who is going to rule Verona.</p><p>“We’ll show them next time!” Roderigo declares as he inspects his blade before sheathing it. “Not that we lost, of course.”</p><p>“Of course not,” Tybalt agrees absently, before letting the conversation blur onward.</p><p>Tybalt finds, as the topic turns to what the fate of the Montague house’s main family ought to be, that he does not enjoy the jests nearly as much as he had in the past.</p><p>As he had before that night in Rovigo, with someone who, according to the traditions of his house, he should have pierced through the heart rather than bedded.</p><p>The thought brings up the image, and Tybalt recoils from the picture of Benvolio with his slender limbs sprawled lifelessly across the narrow inn bed, his eyes wide and dull as blood spurts out to stain the Montague blue.</p><p>No, he decides quickly, traditions are definitely allowed to be a little wrong. Besides, if whoever started the Capulet side of the feud had seen Benvolio, things might have been resolved differently long ago.</p><p>Three hours later, he ties his horse in a clearing a little ways into the woods outside the city and waits.</p><p>And keeps waiting.</p><p>Maybe this time Benvolio really has decided their...situation, is more danger than it’s worth. Tybalt certainly couldn’t blame him for that. He’s been expecting it ever since they returned to Verona. </p><p>They didn’t even dare to enter the city together. Tybalt dropped Benvolio off nearly a mile outside the city so he could walk to the gate without anyone seeing who he had been in the carriage with.</p><p>And yet Benvolio is still willing to meet him, despite what they both know would happen if they were discovered. Tybalt wonders why he is still so trusting, why he still comes to meet him unarmed, why he keeps letting Tybalt drag him at knifepoint into dark alleys, shadowed doorways, stables…</p><p>Tybalt eventually tires of pacing and sits down on a log, stabbing his knife idly into the dry bark. His horse looks up from grazing and nuzzles his shoulder, and he pushes its face away.</p><p>It’s over, he thinks. He’s not coming.</p><p>He’s always known it would end. He’s tried not to need Benvolio too much, but it seems he’s failed.</p><p>He should be happy it’s finally over, but he isn’t. </p><p>It just hurts.</p><p>“Ow!” Tybalt springs up, knife at the ready, as a thrown pinecone hits him in the arm. “There you are,” he says, pushing the relief out of his voice. Matters between them are already complicated enough without Benvolio starting to worry about him.</p><p>“Sorry.” Benvolio steps through the trees, brushing a hand through his cropped pale hair nervously. “I tried to get away sooner, but...God, it’s awful, Romeo’s writing poetry again.”</p><p>“Not again.” Tybalt winces. Benvolio flirtatiously regaled him with a few excerpts last time, although it didn’t help the atmosphere much; he kept laughing too hard for Tybalt to kiss him properly.</p><p>“I’m afraid so. Mercutio ran off before I realized what was happening, so I was trapped until he got bored, and—”</p><p>Tybalt decides he’s waited long enough. Grabbing Benvolio’s wrist, he pulls him closer, wrapping his other arm around his waist. Benvolio falls against him willingly.</p><p>“You are very forward, Signor,” Benvolio says playfully, pressing close and trailing a finger along the gold chain of the necklace Tybalt always wears. “<em>Very</em> forward!” he laughs, breaking off as Tybalt draws his knife and puts the flat of it under his chin, tipping his face up for the right angle to kiss.</p><p>It’s not that he would ever actually hurt Benvolio. Or rather, not that he wants to. He knows he can never promise, not in Verona. </p><p>But the way Benolio’s eyes go wide with the point of a knife beneath his chin, the way his breath comes in short, half-delighted gasps, is electric. Tybalt can never get enough of it.</p><p>It frightens Tybalt a little, sometimes. Benvolio feels so fragile, with the fine curve of his skull, barely hidden by his short, soft hair, and the slender lines of his neck under the collar. Only a little pressure on the knife point, just there…Tybalt struggles to forget everything he’s learned about killing when he’s holding Benvolio.</p><p>Perhaps it’s the effort to keep himself from tipping over the edge that makes it all so exhilarating.</p><p>He knows by now he doesn’t actually need the knife—Benvolio, for whatever mad reasons that keep them both entwined, seems to crave Tybalt just as much as Tybalt needs him. And, if this had all been a ploy from the other Montagues to lure Tybalt into an ambush, it surely would have happened before now. Mercutio doesn’t have the attention span for schemes lasting more than a week.</p><p>Still, he can’t entirely shake the instinct to protect himself. </p><p>And it does make things interesting. </p><p>Benvolio certainly doesn’t seem to object. For the most intelligent of the Montagues, he seems to have very little sense when it comes to lovemaking.</p><p>The latest example of this being the way he lets Tybalt push him up against a handy tree and pin him there, putting the knife through one of the delicate falls of silver chain ornamenting the leather collar and sinking it into the wood.</p><p>Tybalt knows—he thinks—he hopes Benvolio understands Tybalt would never actually hurt him.</p><p>They’ve never talked about it. Reality never comes into these stolen moments of theirs; thinking about the many violent ways things between them could end ruins the point of their brief escape.</p><p>“Are you going to have your way with me or not?” Benvolio smiles up at him expectantly.</p><p>Tybalt tilts the knife, dragging the collar upward slightly and pulling Benvolio onto his toes. “Aren’t you impatient today.”</p><p>“I’ve been waiting four hours, so if you don’t hurry things up I’m going to start reciting Romeo’s poetry at you and you do <em>not</em> want to know what he rhymed ‘beauty’ wi—”</p><p>After that Tybalt had to shut him up, obviously.</p><p>Several very pleasant minutes pass, in which Tybalt barely thinks at all about Verona, or the conflict between their families, or his own fears that he refuses to put into words. All he thinks about is Benvolio’s warm life in his hands, and the eager depths of his bright blue eyes, and the way he laughs trustingly as Tybalt pushes at the knife.</p><p>Tybalt isn’t used to people trusting him. The Prince of Verona is only waiting for him to step over the line; his uncle continually promises him leadership over the Capulet house one day, if only he does as he says, and at the same time shuts him out from any actual control; and he knows even the other young Capulet fighters see him as a mad dog who might turn on anyone. How strange, that the only man willing to trust him in this way is someone who ought to expect his betrayal at any moment.</p><p>Tybalt finds that perhaps he likes being trusted.</p><p>Benvolio blinks as Tybalt suddenly jerks away, his eager smile turning into a slight pout. “Hey!” His hands trail down through Tybalt’s hair to tug at his jacket as he looks around the clearing. “Bored of me already? I wasn’t joking about the—”</p><p>Tybalt puts a hand over Benvolio’s mouth so he can listen properly. It was only some sleeping instinct that alerted him the first time, before he actually noticed anything himself. Benvolio makes a startled noise against his palm and grabs his wrist, slender fingers brushing Tybalt’s pulse point distractingly, but he doesn’t resist.</p><p>The horse nickers softly, raising its head, and this time Tybalt can clearly hear quiet hoof falls on the leaf litter lining the forest floor surrounding their clearing.</p><p>“Damn,” he mutters.</p><p>There’s no time to run.</p><p>Nowhere to run, even if they could.</p><p>Benvolio tugs at his arm, trying to say something under his hand, but breaks off with a muffled gasp as three other Capulets ride into the clearing. Tybalt turns to face them—he can feel Benvolio’s breathing start to come fast as they approach. He wonders if Benvolio can feel his own pulse starting to speed up.</p><p>“Tybalt!” Roderigo calls, jumping down from his horse and taking a crossbow from its holster on his saddle as the other two dismount. “We were hunting, but we lost our fox. Care to join us?” He halts a few paces away as he sees Benvolio, hidden by the shadow of the tree trunk. “What’s this?”</p><p>“That’s Benvolio Montague,” Ludovico says, half-drawing his dagger.</p><p>Tybalt turns back slowly to look at Benvolio. Benvolio’s eyes are wide but, somehow, still trusting.</p><p>Tybalt takes a deep breath. Leaning in, he grabs the hilt of the knife. “Play along,” he whispers into Benvolio’s ear as he pulls the knife free of the collar and drags Benvolio into the open, holding the flat of the knife against his neck. “Look who was foolish enough to go wandering alone outside the city walls,” he announces to the others with a sharp smile. “I’ve been questioning him about the Montague house’s plans.”</p><p>“Ow,” Benvolio says obligingly, tugging at the arm Tybalt has twisted behind his back. Tybalt isn’t putting enough pressure on the joint for it to actually hurt, but the others can’t tell that from this angle.</p><p>“Hold still,” Tybalt growls, pushing on the knife a little. Benvolio shivers a little, with a gasp that doesn’t sound nearly frightened enough for their situation. Tybalt gives him a shake to remind him to focus. “Move.”</p><p>Roderigo smirks, resting the crossbow on his shoulder. “This is a much better prize than our fox, I think.”</p><p>As they reach the hunting party, Roderigo reaches out to grab Benvolio’s chin and lift his face up. Tybalt pushes down the urge to snarl and shove him away, to declare that he’s the only one allowed to touch Benvolio like that. That would get them worse than nowhere, obviously.</p><p>All he can do is laugh scornfully, and grip Benvolio’s hair to force his head back, and wait for the others to leave him to his ‘interrogation’.</p><p>They don’t leave.</p><p>Tybalt feels something cold fill his chest, growing until he struggles to breath around it, as he realizes Roderigo has no intention of missing out on whatever it is (he could guess easily, but refuses to put it into words) he assumes Tybalt is going to do with Benvolio next.</p><p>That was never part of Tybalt’s plan, such as it was—all he wanted was to distract them for a few minutes so they would leave without giving anything away later. But it seems he’s unwittingly given them hope for far better entertainment than their hunting.</p><p>Only weeks ago—it feels like centuries, now—Tybalt knows he would have reacted in much the same way, with fierce delight at seeing cornered prey.</p><p>Now it just makes him feel sick.</p><p>He’s dizzy with rage now, the pounding in his ears making it hard for him to hear what the others are saying, but he knows the only way out of this is to see it through to the end.</p><p>See it through and pray, little as he is used to it, that the end isn’t Benvolio having his throat slit in some dark alley, after the others grow bored. No, he promises himself, Roderigo would die first if he tried it: but there are three of them, and Benvolio is unarmed and trapped.</p><p>“We can’t stay out here with him,” Battista says. “Too many Montagues about. We should bring him back into our territory.” He reaches for Benvolio’s arm and starts to pull him towards his horse.</p><p>Tybalt pushes Battista away with a growl, glad for the chance to defend Benvolio in this small, useless way without exposing them both. “He’s mine,” he snaps, jerking Benvolio behind him and pointing the knife at Battista’s chest. Benvolio stumbles, making a sharp, pained sound as his arm twists out of Battista’s grip.</p><p>Battista laughs, raising his hands and taking a step back. “All right, you caught him, you’ve earned it,” he says in a light tone, although Tybalt didn’t miss the flicker of nervousness in his eyes when he turned the knife on him.</p><p>Good, he thinks. As long as they’re convinced Tybalt is the most dangerous one there, he stands a chance of getting Benvolio out of this.</p><p>“Let’s go,” he says, pulling Benvolio towards his own horse. “Get on,” he orders, grabbing the reins and gesturing towards the stirrup with the knife.</p><p>Benvolio mounts slowly, rolling his shoulder a little before taking hold of the saddlebow. Their eyes meet as Benvolio glances down. Benvolio raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Don’t try anything, Montague dog,” Tybalt growls as he mounts behind him and puts an arm around his waist, leaving the reins in his other hand.</p><p>“The Montagues will make you regret this,” Benvolio says coldly.</p><p>Roderigo laughs and nudges his horse’s flanks. “That’s if they find out. Come on, before any of his friends can turn up.”</p><p>Once they’re on the move, they can whisper to each other a little without the other three Capulets hearing them over the sound of the hoofbeats and the horses’ tack shifting.</p><p>“Does anyone know you left the city?” Tybalt asks in a low voice.</p><p>Benvolio starts to shake his head, then catches himself. “No. Mercutio might notice I’m gone when I don’t meet him after supper...I should have come earlier. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Tybalt squeezes the arm he has around Benvolio’s waist gently. He hopes it feels reassuring, even if the assurance turns out to be a lie in the end. “I should have found somewhere better hidden,” he says. He vaguely remembers hearing Roderigo saying something about hunting that morning after the brawl, but at that point he was so impatient to steal away to meet Benvolio that he was barely listening.</p><p>Tybalt tries to plan further ahead, looking for a way out, but struggles to come up with anything. He could jerk the reins and make his horse stumble, to give Benvolio a chance to jump down and run. But he’s seen Roderigo’s skill with the crossbow—Benvolio would just get an arrow in his back before he made it a dozen paces.</p><p>He could flee with Benvolio himself, and hope that Roderigo would be taken by surprise, or slower to react when it came to shooting at the Capulets’ leader, but if he did it would give everything away. And that most likely would only end with Benvolio pinned under Tybalt’s body and the fallen horse, at the mercy of the others.</p><p>Tybalt holds Benvolio tighter and guides his horse towards the walls of Verona.</p><p>Despite Tybalt’s brief hopes, Roderigo isn’t thoughtless enough to enter through the main gate, and they return to Verona through a smaller side gate that leads directly into the Capulet sector.</p><p>Roderigo halts his horse outside an abandoned warehouse, a half-destroyed building that nobody ever bothered repairing after the earthquake years before. “What do you think, Tybalt? Even if his friends have realized he’s missing by now, they’ll never find him here.”</p><p><em>Go to hell,</em> Tybalt thinks. “Perfect,” he says.</p><p>“Let me go, you Capulet bastard! You’ll pay for this!” Benvolio struggles convincingly as Tybalt pulls him towards the warehouse, until Tybalt has to put an arm around his waist and half carry him inside. </p><p>“Shut up,” Tybalt snaps as he drops him to the floor next to a pile of crates. It’s safer for them the fewer other Capulets get wind of what’s going on; if the audience gets any larger the chances the others will lose interest and leave are slim. Worse, with more people to show off for, Roderigo might push to take a direct hand in things himself.</p><p>Benvolio pushes himself slowly up onto his elbows, looking up at the group surrounding him with wide eyes.</p><p>Tybalt starts as Ludovico throws something at him, and catches it on instinct before realizing what it is. “Thanks,” he says in a tight voice, looking down at the coil of leather cord.</p><p>“I’m good with knots,” Roderigo volunteers as Tybalt hesitates for a few seconds.</p><p>“I think I can manage,” Tybalt growls, glaring at him until he backs down.</p><p>“Ow! Let go!” Benvolio shouts as Tybalt drags him over to one of the crates and shoves him down on it.</p><p>“Sorry,” Tybalt whispers from behind him as he bends down to pull a loop of cord snug around his wrists. He can’t leave the ties loose enough to make the others suspicious, but he’s sure that, despite Benvolio’s theatrical wincing and struggling, it isn’t actually tight enough to hurt.</p><p>Under the guise of testing the knots, he slips two fingers under the leather cords to make sure, brushing against Benvolio’s pulse point briefly. He can feel it beating fast, and Benvolio flinches a little at the touch.</p><p>This morning, the way he could hold both of Benvolio’s wrists in one hand had just been another enjoyable part of their forbidden game. Now it’s one more reminder of how badly things could go wrong if their precarious situation tips.</p><p>Tybalt trails his hand through Benvolio’s long, slender fingers as he steps back to survey the situation. The others shouldn’t notice anything amiss, he concludes. Benvolio starts twisting one of his rings with the fingers of his other hand. Tybalt has seen him do this before, when he’s worried or lost in thought.</p><p>The last hidden night they spent together, Tybalt teased him about it, threatening to take his rings away so he wouldn’t get distracted from more important things. Strange, how normal it felt to be with Benvolio then, when it all went wrong so quickly just days later. </p><p>Stepping back around the crate, Tybalt leans on Benvolio’s shoulder with one hand, drawing his knife with the other and putting it under his chin. “Now,” he says, keeping his tone mockingly light, “let’s talk about what Mercutio is up to.”</p><p>Benvolio glares up at him, his blue eyes gleaming bright. “Fuck you.”</p><p>Once he catches his breath, Tybalt decides that after this they need to have a discussion about appropriate terminology for these kinds of situations. That was altogether too distracting.</p><p>Roderigo snickers behind him.</p><p>Snarling as he imagines what he would like to do to Roderigo and his two worthless cousins, Tybalt grabs Benvolio’s hair and jerks his head back roughly, resting the knife against his windpipe just above the collar. “<em>Don’t </em>be <em>clever,</em>” he growls between gritted teeth.</p><p>Benvolio rolls his eyes a little, and Tybalt tightens the hand he has in his hair until he winces before letting go.</p><p>“Shall we try that again?” Tybalt says, trailing the knife back up to rest under Benvolio’s chin.</p><p>“You know as well as I do Mercutio doesn’t make ‘plans’, “ Benvolio retorts.</p><p>This, unfortunately, is true, and very much not something Tybalt wants Roderigo and the others to be reminded of. If they realize there’s nothing they actually need from Benvolio…</p><p>“Shut up!” Tybalt snaps. “I know you’ve been plotting something with him!”</p><p>Benvolio seems to get the point, and glances away furtively (yet obviously enough for the others to notice). “I’m not telling you anything,” he mutters, after an appropriately suspicious pause.</p><p>“Fine,” Tybalt smiles, his other hand trailing slowly through Benvolio’s hair to the back of his neck. “Save your breath, then. You’ll need it.”</p><p>He doesn’t twist the collar enough to actually choke Benvolio—he’s barely doing more than tug on it slightly, since his hand is hidden inside Benvolio’s jacket, but Benvolio’s cut-off gasp and shudder feel startlingly genuine.</p><p>“Please, I’ve seen my grandmother be more intimidating,” Roderigo mutters behind him.</p><p>Tybalt freezes.</p><p>Takes a deep breath.</p><p>Benvolio glances around Tybalt’s hip at Roderigo, then looks back up to meet Tybalt’s eyes. He shakes his head slightly, starting to mouth words as Tybalt lets go of the collar and steps back.</p><p>“If you’re so convinced you can do better, Roderigo, be my guest.”</p><p>“What? N—ow!” Benvolio yelps as Tybalt slaps him sharply and turns away to join the others, leaning on Battista’s shoulder and laughing as Roderigo steps forward.</p><p>The cold mass inside Tybalt’s chest clenches painfully as he sees the tension coming into Benvolio’s shoulders, and the way his eyes go wide as he tries to make eye contact again before looking up at Roderigo.</p><p>Roderigo cups Benvolio’s chin to push his head up, his thumb brushing over his lips. “Such a pretty fox.”</p><p>Benvolio promptly bites him.</p><p>Tybalt hadn’t hit Benvolio very hard, pulling the blow so it would have done little more than startle him. Roderigo does nothing of the kind, and Benvolio is thrown to the dirty floor of the warehouse by the force. Roderigo’s following kick to his ribs makes him double up in pain, his wrists tugging at the leather cords.</p><p>Tybalt doesn’t want to watch, but he forces himself to keep his gaze steady, and join in Battista’s and Ludovico’s cold laughter. </p><p>All he can do is wait and count the interminable seconds as Roderigo leans down to haul Benvolio up to his knees by the collar—Benvolio clearly isn’t feigning his struggle to breathe this time as Roderigo twists the collar roughly.</p><p>Not long enough yet.</p><p>Tybalt’s fingers tighten unbidden around the hilt of the knife, and he makes himself let go as he counts down the last few breaths.</p><p>“For God’s sake, Roderigo, I told you to loosen his tongue, not strangle him,” Tybalt says, finally, making sure his tone is as idly entertained as if he’s commenting on a cockfight rather than watching his...watching Benvolio be nearly murdered.</p><p>Roderigo whirls to glare at him, then shoves Benvolio back down to the floor with a snarl. “Fine,” he snaps. “Keep on toying with him if you want. This is getting tiresome. Come on, let’s look for better sport.”</p><p>Roderigo stomps out of the warehouse, kicking another pile of crates over on the way out, and Battista and Ludovico follow reluctantly.</p><p>Tybalt holds his breath, watching Benvolio gasping on the ground as he listens for hoofbeats.</p><p>“You…” Benvolio starts, then cuts off into a series of pained-sounding coughs.</p><p>“Shut up, Montague,” Tybalt growls, resting his boot lightly on Benvolio’s chest.</p><p>“Let us know if you need help getting rid of the body!” Roderigo calls, leaning back through the door.</p><p>Tybalt makes a vague salute with his knife in response.</p><p>This time they finally ride off; Tybalt counts off a full minute before taking a step back and sighing deeply. “Fuck.”</p><p>“...Agreed,” Benvolio says between coughs.</p><p>Tybalt kneels to cut the leather cords—Benvolio flinches a little as he grabs his wrist.</p><p>“Sorry,” Tybalt says quickly, stepping back as Benvolio pushes himself to his feet.</p><p>“You...you had me going there, for a minute,” Benvolio says, rubbing his wrists and reaching up to touch his neck with a wince. “I think I’m about to develop a sudden taste for scarves.”</p><p>His tone is conversational, but Tybalt can hear the uncertainty in it. Tybalt takes a half-step forward to put a hand on his shoulder, then stops as Benvolio takes a small step back, his shoulders going tense.</p><p>Tybalt feels suddenly frozen, that cold thing in his chest crawling up the back of his neck now.</p><p>One push now, he thinks, and Benvolio will never dare to come near him again.</p><p>He’ll never put himself in danger the same way.</p><p>Tybalt won’t have to fear watching him die.</p><p>He should do it, he knows he should.</p><p>But, God, the thought of Benvolio never looking at him with those trusting blue eyes again hurts too much.</p><p>Instead, he steps forward again, pulling Benvolio into his arms. “Ow,” Benvolio says into his shoulder, but relaxes into his hold all the same.</p><p>“I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you. I realized he wouldn’t leave until he made a fool of himself,” Tybalt explains. “He’s had his eye on my position for months…I didn’t think he would go so far so quickly.”</p><p>“Biting him might have been a bad idea, in hindsight,” Benvolio says.</p><p>“Maybe,” Tybalt agrees, ruffling his hair gently. “Can’t blame you for it, though. Do you want me to kill him?”</p><p>“I’d love it, but I don’t see it going well for you, so please don’t.”</p><p>Tybalt sighs. “You would be sensible about it.”</p><p>“The last thing Verona needs is more blood feuds,” Benvolio points out as he pushes out of Tybalt’s embrace.</p><p>“Please, nobody would miss them,” Tybalt retorts, but at this point he’s tired of thinking about them. Taking one of Benvolio’s wrists gently, he kisses the red marks left by the cords. “Our next few meetings will have to be a bit boring, I think…” He trails off, realizing with a jolt that perhaps Benvolio is done with ‘next times’ after today. He lets go of Benvolio’s hand quickly and takes a step back, kicking at a scrap of wood on the floor of the warehouse.</p><p>But Benvolio only smiles. “We’ll have to go farther outside Verona next time,” he says, brushing dirt off his coat with hands that tremble slightly.</p><p>“Hm.” Tybalt agrees. “Imagine if we ran into your friends.”</p><p>“Can’t imagine that going well,” Benvolio says. “I don’t think the same trick would work on them—I’m not very good at being, you know, threatening.”</p><p>Tybalt tries to picture Benvolio forcing him against a wall with a knife at his throat.</p><p>He tries very hard.</p><p>“Must you laugh?” Benvolio complains. But he only lasts a few seconds longer before breaking down himself. “Romeo might believe it,” he says between shaky bursts of laughter. “He’ll believe just about anything, you should hear… ‘my mother’s cat is going into labor’, I tried once, and he believed me...what are you doing?”</p><p>“Take your coat off,” Tybalt says, handing Benvolio his own jacket. “I’ll walk you back to Montague territory so you don’t end up running into Roderigo again outside his favorite tavern. The sun’s setting, so with this nobody should look at you too closely.”</p><p>Benvolio nods slowly, starting to slip his coat off before pausing with a wince.</p><p>“Here,” Tybalt says quickly, stepping forward to help him out of it.</p><p>“Thanks…” Benvolio shrugs into Tybalt’s jacket, and Tybalt is momentarily lost for words.</p><p>It isn’t that the jacket is particularly flattering on him—it’s too large, and the gold clashes with his pale blond hair. But seeing him in the Capulet red makes Benvolio feel so much more his, all of a sudden.</p><p>Benvolio blinks as Tybalt takes both his hands. “What’s—”</p><p>“I—” Tybalt tries to think of how to express everything he’s feeling without sounding like some lovestruck troubadour. “I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again,” he says, finally. “I promise.”</p><p>“That’s a big promise, in Verona,” Benvolio says, but his eyes are wide and bright and trusting, and very, very blue.</p><p>Tybalt smiles, tugging Benvolio closer and kissing him gently. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”</p><p>“If you mean it about next time being ‘boring’, I’m leaving you for Mercutio,” Benvolio says as Tybalt leads him out the door.</p><p>Tybalt throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. “Well, I can’t have that, can I?”</p>
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